inedible passions. tasty little braindump.

Temptation for me is balancing it between my lips, cupping one hand over the end to ward off the (sometimes imaginary) draft, flicking the lighter and taking a deep drag. A few seconds, an overwhelming calm, I am outside my body.

Half of a second cigarette later, I am filled with regret. Rather, the nicotine seizes my throat and I want to claw off the sandy grains trapped in every crevice. This is a disgusting feeling, I murmur to myself.

Temptation, for me, is all about that empty craving. What waits for me after I popped the cherry? A continuous re-creation of that first drag, of that initial feeling of fleeting bliss. It’s never worth it, but I still get tempted anyway.

Is this what adults do, see the consequences five moves ahead, and gently sidestep the possible train wreck?

With my internal morality police, I have no use for religion.